A Handful of Dust
by The Wacky Wannabe Writer
Summary: She trod the knife-edge between hubris and destiny. He courted treason. A re-imagining of the marriage between Ozai and Ursa.
1. Loop of String

**Well, here it finally is! I know I said a while ago that I was going to write a companion piece to my main fic, and well, here it is. Woot. The next chapter of that one is going to start delving into this back story, so I thought it was probably time for this to get up here. Of course, 'Ashes to Ashes' will always be my first priority. Otherwise it will NEVER be finished. **_  
_

**That being said, you can also enjoy it as an entirely self-contained story. It's only going to have a very very small number of original characters, and I'm going to do my best to keep it in canon. That's not hard though, considering we know almost nothing about what happened before Zuko's birth. **

**I'm going to do my best to make it exciting and intriguing and all that, without being too OTT. I just think that "Ursa was engaged to Ozai and they got married and had babies" is boring as hell. So I'm going to jazz it up. :D  
**

**I hope you enjoy it. **

* * *

_I will show you something different from either_

_Your shadow at morning striding behind you_

_Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;_

_I will show you fear in a handful of dust.  
_

- 'The Wasteland'

* * *

Prince Iroh accepted the steaming cup of tea with a short incline of the head, taking a delicate sip. Jasmine. The vigorous leaf was fast becoming his favourite. The Crown Prince inhaled deeply, curling his toes inside stout, mudcaked boots. He had walked for hours, on foot, braved possible death and almost certain imprisonment, and finally sat in wait inside a dimly-lit tent in the most secluded corner of the shadowy valley.

"You have some nerve, showing your face here." Iroh rose to his feet as a figure loomed in the doorway of the tent, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. "Tell me why I shouldn't send your head back to your father."

"Kazu." Iroh dipped into a low, almost sarcastic bow. It was utterly against royal protocol; every living soul, even his own son, was to prostrate themselves before him upon meeting. But the son of Roku bowed to no man. "It is an honour to be in your presence."

"Honour my foot." Kazu crossed his arms, eyes glittering. He had aged in the twenty years since Iroh first laid eyes on him – he was white-haired, bony, and grizzled. He didn't have much left in him. Not after the life he had led. "What are you doing on my land?"

"I have come to make an offer." Iroh gave up on his half-hearted pleasantries. "Shall we sit?"

"I'm fine with standing." How old was he now? Seventy? Eighty? It was amazing, that he had a teenage daughter. Iroh tried to guess. Old enough to see Sozin's comet, the last time it circled the earth. Old enough to know Air Nomads. Old enough to remember his father's death. The bitterness and melancholy of long-faded memory stuck to him like the grime on his tattered boots.

"Very well." Iroh tried recalled the prepared argument in his mind. This could go either way. Kazu would either accept his offer wholeheartedly, or he would tell him to leave and never come back. Iroh was ready for either response, expecting the second. "Kazu, you of all people are aware of the situation between your faction and ours."

"You're hardly a faction." Kazu cut in, sneering. "Cut to the point, Iroh."

"All right." Iroh smiled calmly. "The fact is, Kazu. I'm not interested in fighting you or your forces. Azulon is resolved to stamp you out, but I have no desire to end the lives of my fellow countrymen."

"You think you can swear peace? You think you can walk in here and expect me to believe that you will lay down your sword?" The elderly man narrowed his eyes. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"No." Iroh shook his head. "You are a smart man Kazu. And a wiser one than I." He paused. "I-"

"Out with it, Iroh."

"I am here to make a proposition." Iroh drew a folded sheet of paper from inside his clothing. "Of marriage." Kazu froze. "My son, to your daughter."

"You're insane." Kazu said flatly. He didn't take the paper that was offered to him. "How could you think I would _ever_ give Ursa up to you?"

"Because you know you're losing." Iroh said calmly. "Because I have a vision for the future of the Fire Nation. It is bright, Kazu. Only when the houses of Roku and Sozin reach peace, will we have unity."

"There will never be unity." Kazu's hands were balled into fists. "There will never be peace, whilst the Fire Lord reigns. The only way to bring harmony is to tear down the facade your grandfather spend his life building." Iroh remained silent. "To put the lies to rest. You may have thought that the Fire Nation has forgotten what he did. But the Sages remember. _I_ remember. His attempts to rewrite history will fail."

_They have already succeeded._ But Iroh held his tongue, keeping the same calm, serene expression on his face. He watched Kazu pace and forth before him, watched his hands reflexively clench into fists. After some time, he whirled around, snarling at Iroh. Fire was in his eyes. Kazu snatched the paper, combusting in his hands. He let the contract fall, the fragments of paper curling into ashes. They both watched it die wordlessly.

"Get out." Kazu spat at Iroh's feet. "Leave and I will not have you killed." Iroh's eyes were trained on the scattered ashes. "_Go."_

"You will _die_, Kazu." Iroh said carefully as he slowly raised his gaze. "Azulon will not allow this to continue. He will stamp you out."

"I will die before handing my daughter over to the Fire Nation." His voice was a low growl in his throat. Iroh's face was impassive as ever. "_Leave!"_

Iroh left without another word. His voice was silenced in his throat as he crossed the tent, stepping out into the dying light. His eyes seemed to be trained on the ground in front of him, but he caught sneaking, darting glances of the landscape around him. He walked quickly, his welcome wearing dangerously thin.

It was unfortunate, but not unexpected. Iroh wasn't entirely perturbed about what he was about to do. It would hardly be the first band of rebels he had mercilessly crushed – although they would be the first in red. But it had to be done, for the good of the Fire Nation. How could the country expect to achieve its destiny, when it was fighting within itself? The last threat of civil war would be –finally - stamped out. Unity would finally be achieved - but it would be washed in blood. And he would have the perfect bride for his son. The granddaughter of Roku and the great-grandson of Sozin would together create the greatest Firelord the world had ever witnessed. Iroh wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of his plans.

_Any means necessary._

* * *

"What are you still doing up kiddo?"

Ursa's head jerked up at the sound of her fathers' voice, a smile breaking out over her face. She sat cross-legged on her bed, playing cats' cradle with a loop of twine. The string dangled from her fingers, forgotten as Kazu sat down carefully on the edge of the spindly stretcher.

Spirits. Five sons he had fathered, but none came close in his heart to his daughter. Ursa had become his life, the reason for what little fight and vitality he had left. She was a decade younger than her siblings, the last fruit her withering mother could give to him before she died. A living miracle, born from an elderly woman who had bled her last five years before.

He would die for her in a heartbeat.

"What were you doing?" Kazu lifted the piece of string, looping it carefully around his fingers. "Show me." Ursa smiled, taking the twine and swiftly threading it around her fingers. A strand of hair slipped into her eyes and blew it away carelessly, golden eyes staring at the string.

"Put your finger in the middle." She held out her hands. Ursa had woven a web between her bony fingers. His lips twitched in a smile as he humoured her, watching as she slipped her middle fingers out of the noose, pulling tight. "See? You're trapped." Ursa held her tongue between her teeth as she carefully wove her fingers. She didn't want to mess this up.

"Now what?" He watched her. She was a rather awkward-looking child, in all honesty. Her fourteenth birthday – the summer solstice – passed some months before, and although she had grown several inches in her limbs, she was still flat, boyish and angular. Ursa had always refused to grow her hair long, and it barely covered her ears. She looked more like a lanky boy than a girl. Kazu thought she was beautiful.

"Look." Ursa was smiling again as she pulled her fingers away. "You're free."

"Clever trick." Kazu remarked. "But it's not helping you get to sleep is it?" He took the strong from her, threading it over his own head for safekeeping. "Come now, it's time to sleep." He pulled aside the covers, watching the girl wriggle inside her makeshift bed. Ursa lay her head down, still feeling awake. "We're on the march tomorrow, you need to maintain your strength." He kissed her on the forehead, his beard rough against her skin. "Sweet dreams, Ursa."

"All right." She smiled at him, her expression fading as he ducked out of the tent. She watched his shadow fade, before throwing aside the covers, heaving a sigh. She wasn't tired. Ursa was wired, and she didn't know why. There was an odd energy throughout the camp. It was like a coiled spring, or a tightly strung cord, on the verge of snapping. She heard through rumour that Crown Prince Iroh himself had visited their meagre little camp, with the intention of brokering some sort of peace. She'd heard that her father had thrown him out.

Ursa sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest. She turned the idea over and over in her mind, but she couldn't make sense of it. Why did her father refuse to negotiate with the Prince? Why did he banish him with threats of death? Ursa was young, but she saw and heard almost everything that went on in the camp. Although the men tried to hide from her the ravages of war, there were things that just couldn't be disguised. She knew her family and friends were exhausted and demoralised. She knew they were _losing._ Ursa knew that this couldn't continue. She'd seen the maps, overhead scraps of gossip. It was one of the many things that kept her tossing and turning at night. She couldn't stand it, knowing that while she lay sheltered in her tent, her brothers went out, raiding small towns and encampments. While she was left to read alone, the elders gathered in secret council. It infuriated her. It wasn't even her age – she found out that her brother Taku first rode into the night at fourteen. It was because she was a _girl._

She'd tried for years to disguise the fact. She wore trousers beneath her tunic and kept her hair short. She even tried for a time to speak from the back of her throat, pretending she had a deep voice like a man. But it was all a farce, a stupid pantomime, and she knew it. Even though Ursa took firebending lessons from Sage Zhihuan and he said she was a sharp young pupil, her father wasn't interested in hearing about how she could take down three soldiers if given the chance. She was his little girl, his princess, and he wouldn't hear of anything else.

She'd considered running away, more than once. When the frustration and humiliation rose, threatening to overcome her, she wondered if it were really possible to just walk out of the camp, and leave the stigma behind her, assume a new name, where she wouldn't be Roku's granddaughter. She ached to be nameless – no, not only nameless, but totally faceless. To break away from her world of war and rebellion, of rations and slipping away in the night. She had never even been inside a town market.

One time she even got so far as to pack what few possessions she truly treasured into a worn rucksack. But when she tried to step past the billowing curtain, something faltered within her, and her resolve crumbled to dust. Ursa knew that she could never leave the only world she had ever known, the only people who loved her. So she kept her head down in books. She trained alone, pinning pieces of paper to tree stumps. She pretended often to fall asleep on her fathers' shoulder, picking up some valuable titbits of information in hushed whispers.

But at the end of the day, she was a fragile little girl, tucked away in relative safety while the world turned around her. Ursa sat once more on the bed with her legs crossed, resting her chin on a hand. Shadows and firelight flickered in the gloom, like a puppet show projected on the walls of her tent. Ursa thought briefly about trying to read in the dark, but lay down instead, watching the shifting shapes on the ceiling. Her mind was far away, thinking most of all about the prince who tried to barter peace with her father.

It was the sound of a man screaming that brought her back to earth.

It preceded the alarm, which sounded a moment later, a high-pitched, shrieking horn which tore mercilessly through the night. Ursa felt as though she had received an electric shock. She sprung to her feet, quickly disentangling herself from the twisted sheet. The sound of clashing metal came much sooner than she expected. And much closer.

_What happened to peace?_

Panic rose in her chest, and she sank onto the edge of her bed, struggling to breathe through the crushing fear. There was a voice shouting in her ear, pulling her away from the bed. Ursa screamed, fighting against the man. It was several moments before she recognised one of her five brothers.

"Come on!" It was Shiku, twenty-six years old, the youngest of the five men Kazu called his sons. He was pulling a cloak over her head, dragging her out of the safety of her tent, into the madness and blood of the darkness. He held her close, one arm about her shoulders. In the other, he held a drawn sword, the blade engulfed in flames. It was his favourite weapon, a trick his father had taught him. Ursa tried to look out at the chaos around her, but everything was a blur of light and fire. She kept her head down, looking at her feet. It was hard to keep pace with her much taller brother, who did his best to keep to the darkness. But soon, they had to stop, forced between two burning tents by several armed men.

"Stay behind me." Shiku pushed his sister back, holding the blade out before him. He wasn't afraid of the men. He wasn't afraid of anyone. He had seen enough death and pain to lose any fear of either. Ursa crouched behind him in the gloom, fear closing her own throat. She didn't share her brother's courage. Her fanciful visions of fighting her way past the army had died in her mind, leaving only a cold terror in the ashes. Shiku managed to cut them all down without breaking a sweat, the charred, dismembered corpses falling limp at his feet. Ursa peered between his legs on her hands and knees, gagging at the acrid stench. "Come on." He took her by the hand, taking a few steps before reeling back, eyes widening as he stared at the carnage before him. The soldiers that ambushed the men had set the tents alight, hoping to catch their prey sleeping. Most of the men were fire benders, engaged in hand-to-hand combat, supported at the rear by a team of precise archers. Her father's men were losing. They had been caught unarmed, unprepared, in the night. Many of them were already asleep. Some of them were drunk. None wore any sort of armour, save the watch, who already lay in the dust with cut throats. Black smoke billowed into the sky, choking the moon and stars. The air was filled with the cries and screams of the dying, his skin flushed from the close fire. But worse – they were entirely surrounded. With one hand, Shiku pulled his sister close, brandishing his flaming sword.

Then, they struck. Shiku knew, from the moment he saw the sheer number of the men that surrounded him, that this would be the final fight of his life. He didn't fight with the intention of saving his own skin; he did his best to take down as many of the bastards as he could. Ursa was torn from him, screaming, and with a roar he charged after the man who attempted to take her. He had tried to grab the girl by the hair, but her short locks slipped through his fingers after a moment, and she managed to kick her way free of the soldier and knock him down as her brother seized her by the elbow, dragging Ursa away. Together, the siblings almost managed to fight their way out of the tight knot of soldiers. Ursa was stronger than she let on, Shiku realised, and even though she wasn't formally trained, she had enough bending skill to force the men away with her fire. He didn't need to hide her behind his back, like he first thought. Ursa felt the rush within her, the rising adrenaline as she fought desperately for her liberty, if not her life. Shiku was knocked to the ground, and with a gasp, he collected himself, assuming a fighting stance, ready to continue in his desperate battle. But they weren't fighting him. The soldiers had all stepped back, forming a loose ring around the two children of Kazu, sealing their fate. He paused, confused, and it was a scream from Ursa that caused him to turn around. His face grew bone-white. Ursa's nails broke the skin of his arm as she desperately clung to him.

Before him stood a man in black. _Entirely_ in black. Every inch of him was clad in black metal, from the clawed boots, to the studded breastplate, to his mask. It was in the shape of a dragon's head, covering his features entirely. The figure exhaled deeply, and smoke rose through the grill. He rose one hand. The glove was styled like a dragons' claw, with three-inch talons. Without a word, Shiku prised Ursa's hands from his arm, wielding the sword with both hands. It was his only chance.

But he never even had that. Before Shiku could take a single step towards the armed man, he raised one arm, letting fly a single, deadly accurate bolt of lightning, hitting the youngest son of Kazu square in the chest. The man uttered a short, single cry, the flaming sword falling from his hand, tumbling to the bloodstained earth. The flames died on the blade. Ursa's young, girlish scream tore through the night, rising above the clash of steel and the shrieks of the wounded. Shiku seemed to crumple in mid-air before collapsing to the ground, falling lifeless over his own sword. Ursa looked from the body of her brother to the looming man in dragon armour, hyperventilating with sobs. She struggled to think of some way to rescue herself. Perhaps she could evade his attacks, get close enough to strike. Never. Her soft, fleshy fists were useless against the perfectly honed metal. She would break her fragile bones against him. Ursa screamed as a jet of flame shot from his hands, flinging herself out of the line of fire. It caught the edge of her cloak, and she tore it away as she struggled to her feet, standing before the dragon in bare feet and pyjamas. Her face was wet with tears. Another long plume of smoke issued from the black mask, the figure walking slowly towards her. He wasn't afraid. He had no reason to be. Ursa tried to fire a shot at him, but he deflected the blow easily, and retaliated. Ursa was sent crashing into the legs of a soldier with a cry, winded and stunned. The figure bent down over her, seizing her wrist. He began to stand up with his prize, when a jet of flame arced through the air, striking him across the shoulder.

The figure turned, and a barely conscious Ursa was caught before she could hit the ground. Her eyes cracked open, and she struggled to prop herself up to see. Her vision blurred, but she was able focus on her father, who stood with his back straight, palms facing upwards in an open show of defiance. Kazu rested on the balls of his feet, facing the masked man with a snarl. He tried not to look at the body of his son, stretched out on the grass, but the image was branded on the inside of his eyelids, for ever. He didn't fight for him, there was nothing left _there_ to fight for. He fought instead for his daughter, who struggled weakly in the arms of a soldier. The fight was short and desperate. Kazu was less strong than the masked man, but he fought with a fury and passion which emerges only when ones most beloved is in mortal peril. He placed himself in front of his daughter, refusing to budge. Kazu was old, but he lost none of his inner fire in his long life. He was the son of Roku, the last great firebending master trained in the old ways. He was the leader of the rebellion. The masked man couldn't match his firebending abilities. He was lighter than the heavily armoured man, and managed to knock him to his knees more than once. The rest of the men stood back looking on. This fight was personal, between the two of them. Kazu didn't spare anything in his furious onslaught. He had a very good idea of who it was behind the dragon's mask.

The problem was, Kazu fought with honour. He didn't see the twisting motion the armoured man made with his talons, didn't look behind him as he backed away to avoid a wounding blow. He didn't feel the spear in his chest at first. It was the _sound_, the sickening crushing and squishing of bones and flesh, that made him look down. Kazu sank to his knees with a soft groan as he stared at the throbbing lump of flesh pierced on the end of the spear.

_He was looking at his own heart._

"_No!"_ Ursa broke free of her captor, running across the grass and falling to her knees beside her dying father. He slumped forward on the ground, blood soaking Ursa's limbs as she clung to him desperately, sobbing. Ursa shrieked as she was dragged away by the collar of her shirt, swinging around in an attempt to hit the person to dared to separate her from her father. He was already dead, fire-yellow eyes open and glassy. The talons bit into her skin, drawing blood from the soft white skin as Ursa was hauled to her feet.

"_Let me go!"_ She lashed out and kicked at him, her soft limbs completely ineffectual against the thick iron armour. Beyond the shock and terror and maddening grief was the petrifying conviction that _she was next_. "_No!"_ She was pinned, her arms at her side as she was lifted in the air. She shot several jets of unheeded fire, writhing desperately in the iron hold of the masked man.

Then, she fell to the ground. Ursa gasped as she felt the grass beneath her knees, trying to stand. The figure had his hand on her shoulder, the claws threatening to break her skin once more. Her arms were shackled tightly behind her back. Ursa tried desperately to see through the mess of hair across her eyes, plastered to her skin with tears and mud and blood.

"Take her." For the first time, the masked man spoke. Ursa looked up at him, trembling. His voice sounded low and tinny. It was disguised, like his face. More steam erupted from the long nose of the headpiece. "This fight is over."

"No!" Ursa protested as she was hauled to her feet by two men. "No, let me _go!_ You can't do this!" She craned her neck, struggling to catch another glimpse of the masked man who had destroyed her father and brother before her eyes. She dug her bare heels into the earth, trying desperately to slow the men who frogmarched her into the darkness. The masked man waited until she was gone before removed the helm, sucking in a deep lungful of the night air. It was cool, laced with the bitter stench of smoke and burning bodies, tinged with blood.

"Are there any survivors?" Prince Iroh turned to the men that approached him, head held high. The sound of fighting had dissipated into the black night. The battle – if it could be called that – was already over. His plan to ambush them in the night had worked perfectly. They weren't expecting a thing. Why would they, when that same afternoon, Iroh had offered peace?

"Some escaped into the forest as the alarm was raised." One of his commanders reported with a salute. "We're pursuing them, your Highness. And we found _this_ one near the cliffs." Iroh watched impassively as the man was brought before him. He could from his clothing that it was one of Kazu's sons. The clothing, and the fact that the sight of Shiku and Kazu on the ground had brought him to tears. He was bleeding heavily from his head, his left arm severed below the elbow. "He is one of the resistance leaders, your Highness."

"I said no prisoners apart from the daughter." Iroh said coldly, staring down at the man. He was more dead than alive anyway, at this point. He was almost unconscious from the blood loss. He obviously had every intention of fighting to the death. Just like his father.

"Very well, your Highness." The night was quiet now, apart from the low hissing and crackling of fire, and the waning screams of Ursa being carried into the night. The soft groan that issued from the man as his throat was slit faded into the darkness, as the last man to die that night slumped onto the blackened grass, twitching and gurgling.

"So it ends." Iroh murmured to himself, rather than his men. He could still hear the girl screaming as she was being led away, her tearful cries rising like the flames into the blackened sky. Never again, would blood be shed on Fire Nation soil. Not while Iroh was in any position to challenge it. The final rebellion, the last retaliation from those who remembered the Fire Nation before Sozin had poisoned it, lay dead on the grass. There was no living soul who could challenge the Firelord's rule.

But in the end, it would be for good. Iroh wasn't ashamed of committing atrocities when the ends justified the means. Others had done much, much worse. These men sealed their own fates when they swore blood against the Firelord. Iroh wasn't a cruel man. He killed his enemies quickly, and only engaged in bloodshed when it was necessary. And this was_ absolutely_ necessary. He envisioned in his mind a new era, where the son of Sozin and the daughter of Roku would bring the world to its knees.

Iroh turned back to the body of Kazu, crouching over the corpse. It was perhaps the most dishonourable thing he had done in his life, having the man stabbed in the back, unaware. It was the only thing that left him feeling unsettled on that bloodstained night. He looked the body up and down, before reaching into the thick mane of white hair, extracting the gold-trimmed hairpiece. He held it up to the firelight, squinting a little as he examined it. Then, he broke into a little half-smile as he realised what the clasp was.

It was a royal artefact. Meant to be worn by the Crown Prince.

* * *

**I always got the impression that Iroh was a bit of an evil bastard, back in the day. I mean, he did make a joke about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground in a letter to his family. So when he did at some point 'turn' good, it sure as hell wasn't before then. Definitely going to play around with that aspect. Feel free to disagree with me, of course  
**

**Plus, 'evil' Iroh is so much damn fun to write. **


	2. A Fragment

**It's such an awkward, tentative business, trying to write two things in the same universe. Especially a prequel. Everything I write, every line of speech, every action and reaction, effects what will happen in Ashes to Ashes. Perhaps that's why it's such a long process. The terror of finality. **

**Plus it all has to connect to the actual show, which is another element entirely.**

I'm not making any pretence at canonical realism. I'm in no way saying 'this is what happened'. It would be very stupid of me to do so. It's more 'what if this happened?'

**I think it's more fun that way.**

* * *

_She did not fear while all the earth quaked and the greater powers of the world were changed into a heart of bitterness against her..._

_- _Gilbert Hoyland

* * *

Fang's palms were sweating.

It was so strange. She wasn't often nervous. She was _never_ nervous. She never had cause to be. Fang was self-confident to a fault. Many called her arrogant. She preferred to think that she was very, very good at her job. It was why she was promoted ahead of her male comrades. They may have been stronger than her, but she was quicker, and smarter. It was very difficult for people to get a handle on her, and nobody was able to outwit her. She never had to admit a failing to anybody.

_Which was what made this so terrible._

And to admit this to _Prince Iroh,_ the heir to the throne. The man – no, the _god_ – who would one day have complete dominion over the entire Fire Nation – over the _world_, if the Sage's prophecies were fulfilled. To confess a failing to _him_, made her insides wither with horror and shame. She was utterly humiliated even at the thought, and she hadn't made herself visible in his presence yet.

"Prince Iroh will see you now." The voice, thin and dry as paper, snapped her out of her thoughts. Fang lifted her head from the ground, and gave the steward a short, single nod. The steward held aside the curtain. Fang peered into the gloom but all she could see was a dim candle, throwing black, angular shadows over polished rose wood and blood-coloured fabric. She kept her head held high, neck erect, as she stepped across the threshold, and into the darkness.

She sank immediately on to her knees, and further, pressing her forehead into the thick carpet, breathing in the heavy, oily scent. It stank of perfume, exotic oils, of the mud that was trapped in the crevices of battle-weary boots, of drips of river-water. Fang breathed in deeply, trying desperately to calm her nerves. She shook violently, her stomach heaved. She could be killed. She could have her rank, her titles, her money, stripped, and she could be banished, beyond the dark lands, into the wastes. What was there to stop him from waving her away? It would take nothing. A flick of the wrist. A raise of an eyebrow. She didn't tremble from the greatness of the man before her – she trembled in fear of what that man's power could do to her.

"Rise." It was a short, monosyllabic command. Fang jerked her head up, raising her neck and spine, resting her hands in her lap. She didn't look him in the eye – she wasn't high-born enough to even look in his direction. She kept her gaze on the ground, a point on the carpet, several feel before him. All she could see was the tips of his shoes, hovering at the edge of her vision. A disembodied voice. "You wished to see me."

"Yes, your Highness." Her voice sounded creaky and disused. It was the fear. It had closed her throat and she struggled to clear it. "It is regarding the prisoner you put in my charge."

"Yes?" He sounded completely impassive. Was he bored? Surprised? Fang tried to guess his actions. She swallowed, took in a long breath, and continued.

"She... escaped, your Highness." The candle in the room, that single candle, swelled. She heard the chair creak. Fang closed her eyes as she saw the shoes move, as Prince Iroh rose to his feet.

"How?" He was definitely on edge now. The word cut through her like a knife. She cringed away from him, heart pounding madly in her chest.

"She outsmarted us, your Highness." Fang kept her voice low, face turned deliberately downwards. "She somehow managed to make herself throw up. She begged the guard for something to clean herself up with. When he entered her cell, she knocked him out with a chair leg she had dismantled." The back of her neck crawled in remembrance. "The other guard heard the disturbance and came in to help. She managed to subdue him with her firebending and took his keys. She was able to gain access to the guard's locker room and disguise herself with a uniform. She made it through the staff quarters and scaled the wall of the base. We have not been able to locate her since." Fang spoke the last words in a tumbled rush, hoping Prince Iroh wouldn't notice the red blush that had consumed her face. She clenched her hands together, fingers twisting and turning.

"I see." The light rose. Fang's eyes flickered up, for just a moment. She caught sight of a pair of legs, just a few feet away from her, and dropped her gaze, swallowing. "Where were you when this happened?"

"In my own quarters." Fang spoke quietly. "We thought she had gone to sleep. We didn't think that she would be waiting for the quiet of night." How could they expect anything of a fourteen-year-old girl? Fang was sick with humiliation. She had underestimated her. How could she be so stupid? _The girl is the daughter of rebels and outlaws. She was never going to quietly submit to being locked away. _

"Have you got men looking for her?"

"I have sent out every available man." Fang responded quietly. "There are six mounted squads roaming the land. She will not be able to outrun us."

"Very well." He stepped away from her. She could feel the soft gust of air, the gentle shift of pressure, as he moved away. She kept her eyes downcast. "I must admit, I am not entirely surprised." Fang's head shot up in disbelief at the Prince's words. Their eyes met, for one electrifying moment, before her gaze dropped and she pressed her forehead into the carpet, heart pounding. His eyes burned into her. So bright. So _unbelievably_ _bright._ "She is not the sort of girl willing to consent to imprisonment." He didn't sound indifferent at those words. He sounded pensive. Thoughtful. Fang held her tongue. _Let her die then_, the words burned on her lips. Why did he care? How could it possibly be worth the trouble, commandeering this base, with the sole purpose of holding her?

What did he want with her?

"Let me know when she is returned into our custody. I will make plans to bring her to a... more secure location." Fang swallowed, hard. Her heart was still thudding madly in her chest. "That is all."

"Your Highness?"

"You are dismissed." Did she detect a certain weight behind those words? Did he imply something else? A permanent dismissal? Would she wake up with a dishonourable discharge, or worse, court papers? She deserved it. She'd failed him. She'd failed the Fire Nation. _But there was something in those eyes._ That look that he gave her, in that one heartbeat, that moment where their eyes locked and she could feel him boring down into her soul, it wasn't the look of a man who wanted blood. It wasn't anger, or rage. It was something less obtrusive. Something underlying and subtle. Calculating. He was making plans and decisions behind those bright fire-coloured eyes. He wasn't concerned with Fang, not in the least. She was sure, even, that there was just the barest hint of _amusement_ playing in his face. He'd expected this. He'd almost seemingly _wanted_ this to happen.

"Thank you, your Highness."

* * *

The night felt like her.

Dried out. Hollow. Empty. Imperceptibly black.

Nothing.

She'd stopped running. What was the point? It wouldn't be long before they caught her. She knew what they rode, both animal and machine. Her bare feet could never outrun them, across the unknown blackness. Ursa walked, slowly, her bare arms trembling in the cold of the night. It was in the deep, dark hour before dawn, in those last few minutes of absolute night, before the grey fingers of dawn started to claw at the edge of the horizon.

Ursa loved wandering around in the dark. She'd always sneaked out at night, when everyone, even her father, had gone to bed and the firepits were nothing but fading embers. She slipped about like a forgotten ghost, wandering in the perfect stillness. She was often overlooked. But that was then.

It was different now. Everything had changed, irreparably. She didn't have the soft embers to guide her way. She didn't have the security of her father and brothers. She was completely, totally alone in the crushing darkness.

She didn't head towards the lights of the neighbouring village. Only now, she realised her folly. She could have sneaked into a house, stolen an ostrich-horse, and slipped out in the dawn. Instead, she headed away from civilisation, towards the mountains. There was no moon that night, only stars, giving her just the barest outline, a suggestion of shapes in the black void. It was so very cold. She'd cut her feet on the rocks. She was utterly exhausted. But she could _never_ stop. Ursa pressed on, doggedly, one bleeding foot before the other, head hanging down. She didn't cry.

She was done with crying. She'd spent two days in an inconsolable state, refusing to eat or drink anything. She couldn't sleep. All she could see, in her mind, again and again and _again_, was the fire and the blood. Her father dead at her feet. The twisted metal of a dragon's head. The sound of screaming and steel on steel. Somebody, at some point, came in and tried to console her. A woman. Ursa remembered the hand on her shoulder. But she pushed her away. After that came an odd quietness, and sleep. She was lethargic and exhausted. It was a dream she had, of her father, of his heartless corpse, standing before her, eyes and mouth open wide, hands stretched before her, in total silence, which snapped her out of her daze. She awoke in the evening, on her back in the soft bed, forehead damp with sweat, with the cold realisation that she was the last left, and she would rather die than remain a prisoner. But that burning resolve was slowly leaving her. It bled out of her feet. She was so proud of herself, escaping the base and fleeing into the night. But the glowing elation of victory had faded, leaving her cold and alone in the dark. She didn't dare to light a fire to warm herself. She slipped through the darkness, undetected, trudging on in exhaustion, feeling nothing.

She didn't even react when she heard the rhinos. Their heavy pounding carried in the still night, and she could hear them a mile off. She turned back, saw the light of the solders' fire down below. Ursa carried on struggling through the rocky pass, running her fingers along the rock face, in an attempt to find a nook or ledge, something she could hide in. _And then what?_ Jump out and attack? Hope they wouldn't smell or see or hear her? They were _looking_ for her, and they weren't ever going to stop. For some unearthly reason, they wanted her alive.

Her fingers curled around rock. Ursa ran her hands over the smooth face, feeling the indentations. It was enough to climb on. She flexed her cold fingers, breathing on them. She wasn't warm at all. Her inner fire had died out. She struggled to haul herself up, her limbs frozen, but eventually, she lay on her back from her little vantage point, staring up at the stars. Ursa rose to her feet, wavering carefully on the uneven surface. The eastern sky was turning grey. She threw her arms out, biting her lip as she trod on the jagged rock. She should have kept the shoes. Even though they were hopelessly too big for her slim little feet, they would have protected her against this.

She realised quickly that her little ridge was impossible to move from. It veered away sharply down the other side, and stretched only fifty feet forward before meeting a flat cliff face. Ursa was trembling, walking slowly and carefully as she tried to get her bearings in the darkness. The only way down was the rock face she had scaled, and she couldn't find it again in the darkness. She sat down slowly, leaning against the naked rock, arms looped around her legs as she stared out before her. The sky was slowly lightening. She could see the lights below, growing slowly closer. Horror slowly rose in her chest as she realised how trapped she was. Even if she climbed back down, she had nowhere to go, only more crawling along the rocky pass, delaying the inevitable. There was nothing she could do to save herself now. The bitter hopelessness welled up within her, and she gritted her teeth, struggling to force down the desperation and panic that threatened to burst from her in a loud scream.

_It can't be like this._

* * *

Jee loved to watch the sunrise.

When he was a boy in his village, he was sent out into the square in the grey light, to work alongside his father to gather and ready their meagre goods for the dilapidated little market. When he received his conscription, Jee spent six months rising with the sun, in a life of regimented training and exercise that was timed down to the second. When he was held back for the home guard, he masked his smile, feigning shame as he accepted the low position of night watchman at the Hang Shu base. He was able to watch the deepest hours of night give way to the dawn, close his eyes and feel the first watery rays of sunshine on his face in the chill morning air. Ten years rising in the twilight and tracing his steps in the dark. He wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Halt!" Jee's neck jerked upwards, staring at the shadowy figure of his commander, half-lit by a smoky torch. They stood at the base of the mountain range, twelve men on six komodo rhinos. "Dismount." He barked the single words into the chilly air. Jee slid down from the rhino silently. He had better eyes than most, when it came to seeing in the dark. The terrain was too steep, too rocky, for the rhinos to climb upon. Their blundering weight could start an avalanche, and they would get stuck in a chasm or narrow pass before making any real headway up the hillside. "Split up and search on foot. Put out your torches and try to find her _quietly._"

"Yessir!" It was a loud shout in unison, steam rising from their mouths. Jee accepted his order with a silent, bowed head, sighing in relief as he let the torch fall from his hand and into the empty rocks, where it rolled over, flickering, the dying embers glowing sullenly, fading into the dark. It was an awful, cumbersome thing. Jee hated to use it. He was happier concentrating on the soft puzzle of shadows before him, catching the occasional dart and flicker. Then he struck.

Personally, he was amazed she got so far. He mused on it silently as he started to make his way up the mountainside, heading right, up a narrow, rocky pass. It stole the breath from his lungs, left a stitch in his side. Spending his time in a slow patrol or mounted upon a beast had softened him. They said that she didn't take any shoes with her. Either her feet were tough as hooves or they'd be in shreds. He had to admire her fortitude as he slowly made his way along the pass. His lungs were burning after half an hour. The light was cold and grey, sharp enough for him to make out the shape of the rocks he stood on, but anyone not used to seeing at night would still be blundering around in the dark. Jee could hear them down below, groaning and swearing as they tripped up and walked into jagged rocks. He smouldered inside. Didn't the idiots realise she would be able to hear them? He shook his head, squaring his shoulders and continuing on, keeping his tread light and quiet. He was a light man, with the scrawny physique of someone who never had quite enough to eat in their childhood. It was partly why the army decided he wasn't good enough for their ranks.

Jee kept his eyes open and wits keen. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed that she would have gotten further than this. She didn't know the landscape. She didn't have food and water. She would have been exhausted. There was no way she could have-

_Wait._

It always paid to keep your eyes open.

Jee stopped, crouching down before the black stain on the jagged face of the boulder. He arched his neck upwards, looking. It was maybe eight feet up, and from what he saw, it ended in a flat ledge above the pass. He set his tongue between his teeth, aware of the hairs standing on the back of his neck. Animals didn't live up here. There was no grass to support insects, no small animals to feast on the bugs, no beasts to prey on them. Nothing up here that could bleed. Jee pressed his thumb against the bloodstain, dragging it sideways, watching it smear. He lifted it away. His thumb was as black as ink. _Still wet._ He rose to his feet, making sure to keep very, very quiet. He hoped to surprise her. Was it necessary? Could a girl of fourteen really overcome him? _She managed to beat the guards and escape the base. Anything is possible._ Jee squared his shoulders, grasped the protrusions and indentations of the rock, and began to haul himself up.

He wasn't entirely silent. Ursa heard him, the soft scrape of a leather boot on rock. She sat up, straight and stiff as a poker, eyes wide as she slowly realised just what was happening. Her heart thudded, a deep drum in her throat, pounding in her head, as she slowly moved onto her feet, crouching, backed up against the sheer rock face. Her stiff hands bent painfully into fists as she rested on the balls of her feet. The sky was a rim of white on a deep cauldron of heavy grey. Her face, she knew, would be a ghostly white in the dim light, unmistakeable. She wasn't going to go anywhere without a fight.

_But there's no way I can win this._

He heard the girl before he saw her. Ursa's breathing was a low, ragged gasp, breaking the stillness of the chilled mountain air. She saw his shadow, rising to his feet, his helmet plainly outlined against the white rim of the sky. Ursa tensed her chin, to try and keep it from trembling. She didn't want to be seen as weak. Too many people had seen her at her lowest. It didn't occur to her that it was perfectly natural – it was _expected _– of a child of fourteen.

She struck first. Jee was knocked to the ground with a ground, eyes wide in surprise. The handful of fire rose from nowhere, striking out at him, quick and fluid as a whip. Jee rolled to the side, avoiding another blow, leaping to his feet as he studied her, quickly. He had strong reservations about laying his hands on her. He could see, in the grey light, how small and fragile she really was. Only a child. He just stood, still, struggling to comprehend the girl in front of him. He left an opening. Ursa stepped forward, lashing out. If he wasn't going to strike back, she would do her best to force him away from her. But her hands were still cold and trembling. Her fingers struggled to bend. Her fluid motions started to waver. She was burning through the last of her strength, her inner fuel, as she tried to force him back, Jee easily absorbing or deflecting her flagging blows. He planned on letting her burn out, and subduing the girl without actually hurting her. But while he looked forward, at her, he grew careless. Jee didn't look at his feet. He didn't look behind him. He didn't realise that he stood on the edge of the precipice, with certain death churning below, waiting, patiently, for him to fall.

"Just go _away!"_ Ursa's cry rose in the pale air, high and trembling. She staggered forward with her last strike, falling forward on her knees. She heard a shout, the scrape of stone, eyes snapping open. She couldn't see him. He was gone. She stared about her, for several moments before she saw the gloved fingers, clinging desperately to life. He was gasping as he tried to pull himself to safety. She could hear him, scrabbling desperately against the smooth rock face. Ursa rose to her feet, horror building as she lurched to the edge of the tiny ledge, looking over. His helmet was gone, he hung by one hand, flailing desperately with the other. She could see his features clearly in the white light of the dawn, the wide eyes, his mouth open, gaping, forming wordless shapes. He was going to fall and die. Ursa stood there, her own bare feet inches from the edge of the cliff, looking past him, down the fifty feet of sheer rock face, to the dark shadowy rock bed, below. She grew dizzy at the sight, closed her eyes, stepped back. She hung there, in uncertainty and doubt, listening to the soft sounds of the young soldier as terror wrestled with her heart. She could hear shouting, far away, removed from them. They were coming to get her. Of course, there was more than one.

_You can't let him die._

Ursa opened her eyes, taking those two small steps back to the edge of the cliff, looking down. His throat finally opened enough for him, to speak, but it was only harsh, garbled words, alien to both his ears and hers. _He didn't try to attack you._ All he did was duck and dodge. He didn't want to hurt her. How could she rationalise this? Ursa sank to her knees. The sense of vertigo increased, as she leaned forward, extending her slender white arm over the edge of the cliff. Jee groaned, heaving forward, his free arm reaching forward, clumsily grasping her bony wrist. Relief flooded him. Ursa pulled, at the very end of her strength, arm shaking with the strain as she tried to haul him up and over the edge of the cliff. Jee was able to realign his grip, pushing down on the edge with the base of his hand, climbing up, out of death. Ursa fell backwards at the sudden loss of weight, Jee's arm jerking painfully at the movement. He stumbled on top of her, the breath knocked out of Ursa's lungs as the armoured body, much heavier than hers, crushed against her shivering torso. Jee lay frozen for several earth-shattering moments, reeling from the shock. He felt as though he was still suspended in the air, rather than on solid ground. There was garbled shouting, a mans' voice. It didn't come from her.

He couldn't believe it. It was the fists beating into his side that jerked him out of his stupor. Jee snapped into reality, his harsh, ragged breathing stilling in his throat as he looked down at the little body beneath him. Ursa howled and struggled, sobbing. He was crushing her. She couldn't breathe. Her thin limbs flailed against him, as weak and soft as straw. He grabbed her hands out of instinct, pinning her down against the rock as his eyes flickered across her face. She was the colour of bone. He leaned forward, the weight on his hands and knees. Ursa's back arched in rushed gasp of air.

"Jee!" It came from the pass. His eyes shifted, from the white face, to the voice. He could hear somebody climbing up, scrabbling on the rock. He saw the tip of a helmet over the edge, followed by a face. "Jee, did you get her?"

Tears leaked out of her eyes. His grasp on her wrist was painful. She was shaking her head, limp with exhausted acceptance. The fight had drained out of her entirely. Jee couldn't look at her. He felt sick. _Just doing my job._ He spoke, inwardly. Why? She could never hear him. He realised that his commander would have been expecting an answer. The sun was rising. The tops of the mountain were pink. Soon, they would be yellow, bathed in sunlight. The morning was approaching. The shadow of night that had concealed Ursa was gone, forever. She would never be allowed such a tantalizing opportunity to escape. A military base couldn't hold her. Ursa closed her mind to the future. Thinking about what would happen next opened up a tumultuous hole in her chest, a deep dark well, filled with terror.

"Yessir! I got her!"

* * *

The medal was cold in his hands.

He fingered it in the amber light of the room, tracing his fingers over the figure of Sozin, angling up and down, watching the brass flash like gold, fading into shadow, and flashing, again. It hurt his eyes and annoyed the man next to him, but Jee didn't stop. He was fixated by the elderly face, staring in profile at something Jee could never see. His face was set in such a stern frown. They'd carved lines in his forehead. The gold flashes were broken by the rumbling, the jolting of the seat, and he eventually pinned it back into his shirt, hanging over his heart, uniform with the other four men in the tiny cabin. It was a grubby, ineffectual little trinket. It symbolised his status as true member of the armed forces. Not the home guard, not some dilapidated little outpost in the wilds of the Earth Kingdom, but the _army. _He should have been swelling with pride. Instead, he felt lopsided and deflated, shrivelled up. Empty.

He didn't want this. He had no idea there would be this sort of prestige attached to subduing a young girl. It seemed ridiculous, that General Iroh himself pinned the medal to him and declared him a hero. He was fast-tracked for a promotion. There would be great things, expected of him. His shortcomings as a strategist and a fighter were magically forgotten.

All because he managed to hold down a child of fourteen.

He could hear her, still. Screaming. The wagon was third in the convoy, and her thin voice rose above the creaking of axles and discontent murmur of man and beast. She was furious. Flames spurted from the barred window. They'd tried restraining her arms, but nobody could get close. Ursa was limp, defeated, when Jee had her, but the moment the sun first hit her face, she sprang to life. She hit out and shrieked and broke free, trying to run away. It took four men, all tentative to lash out at her, to bring the girl to her knees. She seemed she would rather die than remain a prisoner. The stark change left Jee shaken. No one, it seemed, had any idea of the frightened, cold little girl who sobbed in the grey light. Even Jee struggled to believe she existed. He started to wonder if it was some sort of trick.

Three days and she still wouldn't stop. Only for a few hours before dawn, would they receive any sort of peace. He saw her once, when she was asleep, looking wilted and grey in the corner of the pathetic little cell. They wondered amongst themselves how much longer it would go on. Surely she would give out soon. She didn't try to escape. She knew the folly, knew how many people were now watching her. She was sure she would never receive such an opportunity again.

Their commander barked from the front of the wagon. They would be there very shortly, so smarten up. Jee gave his medal another self-conscious pat, inclining his head, making sure his back and neck were straight in his new uniform. It was stiff and heavy, and it caught under the arms. He longed, already, for his old guards' clothing, for the endless circling around high metal walls in the dark.

"Right!" The wagon lurched forward, staggering to a halt. "Everybody out!" Jee was at the end, so he fumbled with the tiny door, letting it swing open, stepping out onto the road. They stood before a huge house, at least four stories, ringed with a high stone wall, the iron gates open as the last cart was pulled through. Jee's first thought was that it was some sort of prison. But no, it couldn't be. The house was too impressive, too tidy to be the home of convicts. The walls seemed to stretch beyond the house to the south for miles. It housed a formal, manicured garden, acres of it. Although it was roughly the same size, had the same sort of high walls, Jee couldn't imagine anything more different to the base where he had been stationed. His base was squat and iron, this was slender and graceful, with smooth white brick. He noticed for the first time, the small sign near the door, on a brass plaque, small and reserved.

_'The Royal Fire Academy for Girls'_

"Li, Quan, Hu, Jee. You four escort her!" His thought pattern was broken, and he turned to the covered wagon, where she had started swearing loudly at the commanders' words. She knew she was going to be taken out. Li drew the bolt, and Quan and Jee entered the tiny cell in silence. Ursa had backed herself up against the wall, raising her fists.

"Stay away from me!" She stared at them both. She started a little as she saw Jee, eyes widening in recognition, and her face hardened, lips carved from stone. "Don't touch me!"

"Come on." Jee sounded almost pleading. How could he feel anything but sorry for her? "We're not going to hurt you. We're just-"

"Bullshit!" Jee had to dart sideways to avoid the blow. Tired of trying, Quan stepped forward, head bowed in the dark little cell. "Get your slimy hands off me! No!" Ursa was dragged screaming into the outside light. They managed to cuff her hands together behind her back. Two men holding her arms, the other directly behind her. She fell silent as her eyes fell on the house, looking pale and sick in the bright afternoon light. Her first impressions were that of a prison. She saw the walls, the gate. Escape would be hard. Not impossible – but very, very hard. She didn't know if she had it left in her anymore.

"That's _enough."_ They all stopped at the voice on the threshold. It was a cold, stern voice, as unforgiving and indomitable as steel. It belonged to a woman. She stood with arms crossed at the top of the stairs, hovering several feet above them all. "Let her go." At first glance, she seemed colourless. Her hair was a dull, heavy iron-grey pulled back from her face, stretching her paper-white skin. She seemed faded and sallow. But the moment Ursa looked her in the eye, the worn images of age vanished. As narrow and sardonic as a cat, burning a fierce flame-yellow. She pierced through Ursa's skin, looking down into her heart. Seeing everything.

"M-Madam Xiaozhang, this is-"

"I know who this is." She snapped over the commander, making her way down the stairs. Xiaozhang stopped several feel before the dirty young girl, arms crossed, looking down her nose at Ursa. She looked back at the elder woman with her chin thrust out, head held high and defiant. _Try me._ She refused to tremble beneath that piercing, burning stare. "Ursa Zhong." Something stuck within her, at the sound of her family name being used. She realised, for the first time, that it could possibly die with her. Die or be smothered by marriage. She felt cold at the thought. "I told you to let her go." That awful stare shifted back up to the commander.

"W-With all respect Madam Xiaozhang, she's highly dangerous, I don't-"

"Don't be ridiculous." She looked Ursa up and down, lip curling. "She wasn't sent here to be a prisoner. Let her go."

Jee let the cuffs fall wordlessly, watching those dirty, bony wrists fall still. Ursa looked up at the woman, curling her fingers, flexing them. They felt so _light_. She couldn't speak. _What was happening?_

"Very well, we shall escort her into-"

"You shall do no such thing." She darted out, quick as a snake, long sharp talons curling around a skinny wrist. "No soldier has crossed the threshold of this academy. I'll take her from here." Ursa felt herself jerked forward, she complied silently, her legs feeling stiff and disused. "The other girls will return from town very shortly, and I would _advise_ that you leave before they arrive." Xiaozhang started up the stairs, Ursa trailing behind.

"Madam Xiaozhang, I have orders to make sure-"

"Your orders are of no concern to me." She turned back, narrowing those brilliant yellow eyes at the commander, who quailed beneath her. "Leave this academy. I shall inform the appropriate parties of her arrival."

"Madam _Xiaozhang-_"

"Don't you _dare_ take that tone with me." Her clawed talons dug into Ursa's wrist, as the woman clenched her hands in reflex. The commander immediately fell silent, face reddening with humiliation. Jee fought back a smile. "Your orders were to bring her here and they are _fulfilled." _She stared at him, cold and even. "Do you wish to make an enemy of me?" The commander still couldn't speak. He gaped at her, utterly unused to being spoken to in such a disparaging manner, by a _woman._ "Thank you gentleman. I trust you can lead yourselves out of the premises." She turned back to the door, marching across the threshold. Ursa's head was turned back, looking wide-eyed at the cluster of soldiers for just one moment, before she was pulled inside, the door banging closed.

"Well." Xiaozhang huffed, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the front of her black clothes. She looked Ursa up and down again, with the same cold glare she gave the commander. Her nose wrinkled. Evidently, she didn't think much of the dirty young girl. "How old are you Ursa? Eleven? Twelve?" She tried to guess. She started walking down the long hall, beckoning for Ursa to follow. The girl walked slightly behind her, lagging. The long hallway was ringed with portraits. They were all of young girls. The first were little more than drawings, crude sketches. They looked very, very old. As Ursa and Xiaozhang walked further down the hall, the portraits grew sharper, more sophisticated. Some of the girls were hideous. Some were beautiful. Ursa quickly noticed a pattern. They were either wide-eyed, innocent blossoms, or they were cold and haughty, or they looked shrewd, self-aware. They all looked at her, staring. She could feel them, hundreds of eyes, staring on the awkward, dirty stick of a girl. She shrivelled under their gaze.

"Fourteen." Ursa's voice was icy. She wanted to ask where she was; the question burned on her tongue. But she closed her lips, assuming an air of cold indifference. She didn't want to be seen as curious. She didn't trust this, any of this. Xiaozhang heaved a long-suffering sigh, finally releasing her hold on Ursa's wrist, looking ack at her in quick little glances.

"Can you read and write?" Ursa nodded silently. "Have you been formally schooled?" She shook her head. "Of course not. Have you had any training?"

"What sort of training?" She asked, stiffly.

"Ugh, never mind." Xiaozhang waved her hand. It was an obvious 'no'. The woman stopped in mid-step, turned, her stare matching that of a young woman to Ursa's left. She stared, from the picture to the woman, and back. She was almost sure that it was _her. _"Ursa, do you know where you are?" The girl slowly shook her head. "This is the Royal Fire Academy for Young Girls. The most prestigious school for young women in the Fire Nation. In the _world._" She spoke firmly. "We have been running for nearly five hundred years. We _never_ take on more than fifty girls at a time. Most students are wait-listed as soon as they are born, and they begin at the age of five. To become a student is the highest privilege any young woman could dream of. A full graduate of this academy will find every door open to them. They can be whoever they want to be." Ursa's mouth was dry. "You have been enrolled, at considerable expense, I may add, despite your age, your social position, and your political status, as a student."

"What?" Her voice was a soft whisper. Xiaozhang nodded, a little lopsided dip of the head. "Why?"

"Because you have potential." There was a slight, almost imperceptible curl of the woman's lip. But Ursa caught it.

"Potential for what?" Her arms were folded, almost hugging herself, fingers digging into the dark, worn rags that hung on her.

_Potential to shake the world. _But the headmaster held her tongue, leaving the tentative question unanswered. She merely turned on her heel, and began her brisk, mechanical walk, signalling for the girl to follow her.

"Your rooms will be on the fourth floor. You will have a ladies' maid waiting for you. She will help you bathe and dress and you will be presentable in time for dinner, where you will meet the rest of the girls. Tomorrow you will be shown about the school and begin your lessons."

"Wait." Ursa stopped. Xiaozhang noticed the quietness, the lack of her soft little patter. She stopped, turning around slowly, arching her eyebrow at her newest pupil. She was bursting with questions that demanded immediate answers. This seemed like a blur, a dream to her. How was this happening? "I can't be a _student_ here. Fifteen minutes ago, I was in chains! I was a prisoner! Aren't you _scared_ of me? What if I attack somebody and escape? This has to be some sort of trick."

"I assure you Ursa, this is all real." Xiaozhang spoke slowly and evenly. "There are no guards or jail cells to restrain you. The walls are high but not inescapable. You are not physically bound to remain here." Ursa swallowed, a lump in her throat. "If you wish to leave, by all means, do so. There's a town ten miles to the east, where you could postulate further escape. But if you do so, you will be rebranded a criminal of the highest order. Fire Lord Azulon will not be squeamish in executing a young woman."

"You can't be serious." Ursa breathed.

"I'm quite serious. You're not a _prisoner_ Ursa. Within these walls you are just another pupil at this academy. The moment you step outside, there is nothing to protect you."

"That's not freedom." Her voice trembled. She felt oppressed and heavy. She was still trapped in a cage. It was gilded and luxurious, but it was still a prison.

"I never said it was freedom." Xiaozhang narrowed her eyes. "It's a chance at redemption. To integrate yourself into society. When you graduate, you will be considered normal. Cured, if you will."

_If I swallow their lies._ She couldn't think. Ursa closed her eyes. How could she consider accepting protection from these people? Everybody was against her. Every person who swore allegiance to Azulon, they contradicted her core beliefs. It wasn't a _sickness_, something they could beat or brainwash out of her. It was the truth, the ignored, battered truth that had been collectively abandoned, by the entire _nation._ _I can't even begin to consider this. _

"I couldn't ever accept-"

"You don't have the _option, _Ursa. You don't accept anything." She struck out again, quick as a snake, snatching Ursa's wrist and beginning to walk down the hall. "I'll show you to your room and Lin will get you settled in." Ursa's mouth drooped downward, lax and helpless, shoulders slumped as her protests were ignored. She kept her gaze downward, trying desperately to ignore the hundreds of derisive, arrogant eyes on her, faded and worn with age. Ursa kept her mouth closed, a crushed insect beneath an iron boot. She couldn't fight anymore. She rattled the bars of the cage, shaking and screaming. Silently, inwardly.

Because even if she screamed herself hoarse, like she had so many times before, she would only deafen herself. Nobody else was listening.

* * *

"Ozai. Darling. When you come to bed?"

She was standing in the doorway, striking one of her favourite poses. She was a nymph, spun from pitch-black hair and gossamer silk, and strung with gold. Ozai could see her face in his mind's eye. Slanted, cat-like eyes lined with black, her full lips coloured to a red pout, shadows painted on her face to accentuate her razor-sharp cheekbones. Linka loved to wear makeup. She exaggerated the natural contours of her face, making herself look even more exotic, more alien to the white-skinned royalty around her. Ozai loved the way she looked.

"Later." He hunched over the ornately carved desk, his features twisted into a deep scowl. Ozai had already read the contents of the letter twice, but he read the words again, the familiar rage boiling within him. It was like being receiving an electric shock, or dumped in iced water. His manhood, his rank, his birth, was being mocked openly before him. He felt disjointed, frantic, and deeply, deeply insulted. _Who the fuck does Iroh think he is?_

"What you reading that so important, hm?" She spoke their language brokenly, her tongue struggling to shake the accent of her own people. Ozai had gotten used to her butchering of his mother tongue several months ago. He had even learned to love it.

"A letter from Iroh's army." He felt, rather than saw, her stiffen at the mention of his brother's name, a perfectly painted talon tapping against her chin in thought. "He's completely destroyed Kazu's faction." Ozai leaned back, slowly twisting his lip. "He let one of the children live. The daughter. Iroh's bribed the Royal Academy to take her." His hand clenched into a first, the paper rustling. "It seems wants to make a lady out of her." He kept nothing from Linka. She had nothing to gain from betraying him. She was worn from over a decade of gossip and intrigue, balancing precariously on her last bridge. She was an experienced mistress.

"Lady no fun." The foreign woman declared, her footsteps as soft as a cat on the thick carpets. Ozai let out a single, silent chuckle. He certainly had more fun with her than with any nobleman's daughter. He knew what people thought about him and Linka. To them, he was another young idiot for her to leech off, to suck dry and cast aside, a dried out husk. He was a stupid boy blinded and preoccupied with the body of a woman. Nobody, except perhaps Iroh, knew how smart she really was. Nobody realised the worth of a greying prostitute from the wildlands. "Lady know nothing."

"He'll pair her up with Lu Ten." His teeth were bared in a snarl. "She's four years older than him, Linka. He's a _boy."_

"Why you care? Many other brides in land." Linka sat down on his desk, purposefully placing herself over the incriminating letter.

"None descended from an Avatar." Ozai breathed. It was _brilliant. _The blood of the Avatar in the Royal family. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. The very earth would tremble at their feet. He couldn't imagine a bride more powerful. More powerful and more _dangerous._ "None who swore blood against us."

"You don't want to get marry." Linka leaned in, so they were very close. He raised his eyes, looking into her, the heavy black lines she painted on the edge of her own eyes, the red paint on her eyelids that didn't quite cover the lines in her skin. Ozai was suddenly reminded of her age. She was old enough to be his mother. "Seventeen far too young. Live first. Have Linka." He was astonished at her frankness. She spoke plainly, very aware that she was on borrowed time. The woman lingered by a thread, remaining in the Palace as a vacant ghost, a whispered shadow. A secret.

"No, I don't want to get married." He took the letter out from under her. It tore, an ugly short sound in the heavy room. He crumpled the paper into a tight ball, letting it fall from her hands, forgotten. "But I thought I'd be before Lu Ten." _They're not worried about me. They don't care what I do. I'm only an insurance policy._

"Ozai stop. No matter now. Worry in morning." She leaned in, a slim brown arm extending, touching the small knot in the base of his neck. Ozai closed his eyes and forced down a responsive shudder, rolling his neck. Linka knew all of his secret sensitive spots. She could turn him into soup in a heartbeat. "Come sleep with Linka." She slid onto the floor in a single, fluid movement, her fingers trailing along his arm. She drifted along the carpet, humming softly in her throat one of her childhood lullabies in her throat. Ozai sat in the chair brooding silently, his chin almost on his chest for several moments before heaving a long sigh, rising to his feet.

_Fuck it. _

He blew out the lantern on his desk, treading the well-worn path to the bed in darkness.

* * *

**I assume at this point it's rather obvious where I'm going, so smile and pretend to be surprised.**


End file.
